


Shifting Gears

by orphan_account



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Car Sex, Community: st_xi_kink, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-22
Updated: 2009-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-17 18:07:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/179714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started with Drepanophycaceae reconstructus Terra, aka Hikaru Sulu's latest botany project, aka sex pollen. Enter Cadet Pavel Chekov, who happened to get dosed. Enter Leonard McCoy, who would, of course, never take advantage of that. Except he did. And they both loved it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shifting Gears

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt at st_xi_kink: "Chekov gets exposed to sex pollen and is placed in the car of Dr. McCoy, because everyone knows the doctor is responsible and would NEVER give into Chekov's pleas to fuck him. Only he does. And they both love it." The keyword in the prompt-- car-- was a typo, but I was like, Hey, carsex! I like the sound of that. I like it a lot less a year later, considering the *serious* consent issues here, but...

_****_****" _Dammit_ , Jim! I spent an _hour_ in line at the bank waiting for a chance to fix some screw-up with the goddamn paperwork that's making Jocelyn twitchy about not getting her alimony payments, and I was almost at the counter when you call me _here_ for your fucking emergency! If I lose visitation rights over this, you'll--"

Leonard's mouth went very dry. He stared for several long seconds at the patient Jim had just presented him, then turned around and stalked back to his car. "No, Jim. No. No. No. I am not getting involved in this. No fucking way."

"Bones, it's not what it looks like!"

"What it-- it fucking _better_ not be, because that looks an awful lot like molested jailbait drugged so far into a Lanesthenol coma that he can't even remember what consent _is_!"

"Doctor McCoy, please," said the third cadet present, the slim Asian guy that was supporting the kid on his shoulder. "Cadet Chekov's condition is entirely my fault. I take full responsibility for this and am willing to accept any punishment that Starfleet chooses to hand down for my irresponsibility, but please don't hold that against Pavel. He needs medical help immediately, and I-- I can't."

Whatever the guy couldn't do, Leonard didn't know, but it might have been any number of things. Beneath the undeniable guilt, there was lust and want and enough self-loathing to convince Leonard that Chekov's disshevelled, drugged state was not intentional.

"All right," Leonard growled. "Give him here. What _exactly_ happened to him-- and who're you and how the hell old is he, anyway? Twelve?"

"Hikaru Sulu, pilot in training. He's sixteen, navigation officer in training on the accelerated track."

Apparently Chekov found nothing objectionable about being tugged over Leonard's shoulder as well as Sulu's. In fact, he threw his entire weight against Leonard, causing the three of them to stagger.

"Woah, easy there, kid--" Leonard's left foot went off the concrete walkway and skidded in the wet grass as Chekov thrust his hips aggressively against Leonard's thigh, mouth latching onto his neck.

"Pavel, stop it," Sulu snapped, his voice strained. From behind them, Kirk managed to hook an arm around Chekov's neck and tug him off Leonard's throat, cueing a disappointed moan from the kid.

Leonard just hoped to hell that nobody would be around the dormitory buildings during class hours to see three grown cadets manhandling an underaged kid into his hovercar. Nothing about the situation _looked_ like a medical emergency, to say the least.

"Get the door open, Jim," Leonard barked. "No, not the passenger door, the-- fuck it, just get him in. In, kid."

"Hikaru, _please_ , what is wrong? What did I do wrong? You can fuck me, please, I want you to, I'll be so good--"

"It was an allergic reaction to the pollen from-- I don't know exactly which plant, but it was probably either the Lanovarite ficus, the Vulcan sporeflowers, or the clipping of genetically reconstructed club moss I crossbred with Japanese bonsai," Sulu bit out tersely, walking over Chekov's pleas. His jaw was clenched. "I didn't know he was allergic to _anything_ or I wouldn't have even let him see my botany experiments."

"Space," Leonard muttered darkly. "Of course there's all kinds of diseases and parasites hidden in anything that comes out of that black scum pit. You're lucky if it's not Lanovarite _roundworms_ boring through his brainstem!"

Sulu's eyes went wide and horrified.

"Don't be such a drama queen, Bones!" Jim cut in, from where he was struggling to buckle Chekov into the seat harness while the boy was more interested in opening Jim's pants. "It's just sex pollen. If it were the roundworms, he'd be foaming at the mouth, not-- uh. Chekov, um-- stop that. No, seriously-- oh _fuck_ that's good, Christ--"

White with fury, Sulu reached into the car and yanked Jim out by his collar. Jim had the grace to look ashamed at the tent in his pants as he zipped himself back up.

"So ya do occasionally listen when I talk," Leonard muttered.

"Occasionally. Listen, just-- just don't let him run off anywhere. We're both pretty sure it's gonna wear off on its own, so you just-- stay with him."

"Stay with-- _what_? Dammit, Jim, I'm a doctor, not a babysitter!"

"Then can you cure him?" demanded Sulu, tight-faced and pale.

"I don't even know what this is!"

"There have been numerous documented cases of so-called 'sex pollen' before, Doctor McCoy, and--"

"None have ever been cured by anything except relief of the symptoms or time," Leonard finished sharply. "I know."

"And nobody is doing anything to Pavel in this state," Sulu continued harshly. From inside the car, Chekov tried to fumble the door open, gasping something that made Leonard's ears burn; Sulu pushed it shut again without looking at his friend. Leonard had the presence of mind to press the lock button on his starter chip, sealing the doors and safety harnesses. "What could a hospital do but tell us to wait it out? Jim says your self-control is better than any of ours."

"Bones, please. Obviously I can't-- you know, keep it in my pants-- and Sulu--"

Leonard scrubbed a hand over his face hard. "Fine," he growled. "Two hours. If it's not gone by then, I'm taking him to a medical centre."

Sulu nodded shortly. "We're going to see if we can find anything on organic aphrodisiac compounds, something that might counteract the pollen."

"I have a few antihistamines I can try," Leonard muttered, more to himself than anyone. "Hurry up and find something, you two."

They hurried away, leaving Leonard McCoy with a very horny, very underage cadet and two hours to deal with him for.

In the passenger's seat, Chekov had given up on trying to open the lock as Sulu and Jim vanished from sight, and was currently grinding hard against his own hand, head flung back against the headrest, hips straining against the locked harness.

"Hell," Leonard said. He took a deep breath and unlocked the doors, sliding into the car. He was illegally parked and badly askew from the curb, besides the fact that classes let out in an hour and the dorm block would be flooded with returning cadets who did _not_ need to stare at Chekov through his car windows. Fucking _hell_ if he was taking the kid back to his room; might as well just plead guilty for coercement and rape. He had to... drive. Somewhere.

The instant Leonard was behind the wheel, he had a lapful of panting Russian and hands in places that hadn't been touched since Jocelyn had left him. "You want me," gasped Chekov. "You want to fuck me, yes? I want-- I want--"

"Jesus Christ, kid!" he yelled before he could stop himself. "Okay. Okay, ya just calm down. Sit back in your seat. Nobody's getting hasty about anything, here."

"Need you to fuck me," Chekov insisted, his voice cracking. "Please. Please."

"Ya don't know what you're saying," muttered Leonard. Chekov didn't seem to realise what the hands on his chest were actually doing until Leonard buckled the harness around him again. The lock flashed red with a touch of the starter chip; another tap and the ignition sequence started the motor. Leonard shifted into gear and pulled away from the curb jerkily, his hands white-knuckled on the wheel as he tried to erase the vivid sensation of Chekov's heaving chest beneath his palms.

"Do too," Chekov protested faintly. "Want-- fuck. Now. Need it."

Steering out of the campus and onto a slightly more trafficked thoroughfare, Leonard continued to glance over at his passenger, trying to gage his state. Flushed face, dilated pupils, moderate perspiration, elevated breathing and heart rate-- and then there was the matter of the erection in his pants, leaking fluid in an obvious wet spot. Didn't seem to display any of the classic signs of an allergic reaction, hives or swollen airways, thank god.

"Chekov, is it? How are your lungs feeling, Chekov? Constricted?"

"Hot."

"Okay, fine. Dizzy? Short of breath?"

"Can't focus. Just want--"

"To fuck, yeah, yeah, I know." Paranoid that a cybercop was going to pull him over and see the drugged kid in his passenger seat, Leonard carefully signalled and turned onto a cruiseway that wound back through the woods behind the Academy.

"So hot," Chekov whimpered again.

"Tell you what, I'll put the top down. Get some fresh air, breathe deep, maybe it'll help you get this through your system faster."

Muttering distractedly, Leonard hit a few buttons on the dash; after a moment of typical stubbornness, the latch mechanisms disengaged and the roof of the car retracted. Damn thing leaked in the rain, it _better_ at least go down when he wanted it open in hot weather. Stupid Jim, talking him into something so impractical. But the wind rushed in his ears as Leonard accelerated onto the lax curves of the cruiseway, and it did help to dry the sweat on his face and drown out Chekov's helpless moaning.

"Suck me. Need-- need your mouth, hands-- Блядь! _Please!_ "

Chekov had managed to get a hand down his pants despite the five-point harness strap running between his legs. Keeping his eyes determinedly fixed on the road, Leonard didn't stop him. Let him work off some of the pollen on his own. Best thing for it. Really.

Leonard's hands were shaking very slightly. _Goddammit, man, you're a doctor! A surgeon! Sitting here quivering like a six year-old girl because some sex-pollened teenager thinks he wants your dick._

"Bones. Bones--" And where the hell had he learned that? Probably off Jim-- "--it hurts. I--" His Standard was breaking up into long strings of Russian with the occasional interjection of profanity; no wonder, with the way Chekov was grinding into his own hand like he wanted to crush something important, tears squeezing out of his closed eyes.

"Aw, hell, kid. Stop it. Not-- not like that. Stop."

"Can't! I c-can't stop, I need to come, I have to-- _I have to_ \--"

Trying desperately to think straight, Leonard pulled the hovercar over to the side of the road, beneath the shelter of a crab apple whose branches grew so low that they brushed the car's hood as he eased beneath it. "Just breathe for a second," he ordered, his voice very steady despite himself. "Stop. Let me see."

After pulling on a pair of the latex gloves he kept in the glovebox, Leonard unbuckled the lowest strap of the kid's harness with a touch of his starter chip, pulling Chekov's hands away from himself and unzipping his uniform pants all the way. Chekov let out a long, unashamed moan that made Leonard's breath hitch.

"You wanna tell me how long it's been like this for?" he asked, keeping his voice light as he carefully examined Chekov's engorged member. Wasn't just a horny teenager's normal erection, that was for sure-- painful probably didn't begin to cover it. He was swollen, purple, and chafed raw in places, swimming in the sticky ejaculate of at least one unfulfilling orgasm.

"Forewer," Chekov said weakly. He didn't seem to be aware that he was thrusting steadily into Leonard's hands as the doctor continued his examination; Leonard ignored it as best he could. "Is too long, and Hikaru refused-- Jim-- I tried. I tried, Bones, I need-- _ah! Ow, stop_!"

"Sorry." As gently as he could, Leonard eased Chekov's testicles into his hand. Hell-- actually blue, or damn well getting there. Not good.

"Moving onto an advanced case of priapism," he muttered to himself. He leaned into the back seat and grabbed his kit, dragging it open. "That's all right, I can fix that. It's an easy injection, just heparin and saline and I... don't... have it. Dammit!"

"Am sorry," Chekov whimpered.

"Not your fault, kid."

Chekov gasped wetly, tears leaking down his face. With a sudden convulsion of need, he grabbed for his cock again and started to jerk desperately, flinching in pain with every stroke. " _Hurts_ , бо́же мой, hurts so bad..."

"All right, ya just calm down, now." Leonard made sure to keep his voice low, as though he were speaking to a spooked horse. "Stay calm, kid. I'm gonna fix this."

 _Dammit, Leonard. He's just a kid. Just a patient. That's all this is. Erectile tissue damage. Corrupted veins. Abraded nerve endings._

Moving before he could think things through, he hit the latch on Chekov's harness. The straps dropped and Chekov lunged for him, trying to scramble over the gearshift and kick out of his pants at the same time. Leonard grunted, catching Chekov by the hips before he could plaster himself against the doctor.

" _Easy_ , Chekov. C'mere. Look, here's how we're gonna do things, ya hear? No-- dammit, stop rubbing like that, you're just making it worse."

"Want you... want you to fuck me..."

His breath hitching, Chekov stared into Leonard's face with hazy eyes, drinking in the doctor's every wince and grimace as he tugged Chekov into position-- straddling his lap, knees on the seat to either side of Leonard's hips. He grabbed for Leonard's shirt frantically, fingers sliding against stomach and sides.

"Touch me, Bones, touch-- want your hands on my ass and my cock, in my ass, fucking me open. Want wery much for you to do it, need you to do it. Need you."

"Hands here," Leonard said stiffly, gripping Chekov's wrists and pulling them away from his shirt. He forced Chekov's hands against the headrest of his seat. " _Here_ , understand?" Leonard licked his lips nervously before adding, "Doctor's orders."

"But I want-- Блядь, yes! That, fuck me-- _ouch_ \-- do that!"

As gently as he could, Leonard ran his thumb over the head of Chekov's erection. The younger cadet jerked violently, his slippery cock sliding through Leonard's fingers.

"Easy, easy. I'll take care of ya, Chekov. Just breathe. C'mon, breathe."

Chekov gulped air as Leonard teased his slit, trying to draw out an orgasm as quickly as possible without stimulating much of his already oversensitised penis.

"Slower. Breathe slower than that. I got ya. Slower."

Shuddering hard, Chekov buried his face in Leonard's shoulder, accent ever thickening as he chanted in a sob, "Zat, do zat, do zat..."

 _Aw, yeah,_ just _a patient. Fuck all if you're not talking like you're five minutes off the Mississippi shuttle and still South as crawfish gumbo, Leonard._

"Bones... Bones, doctor Bones, am going to-- need to-- _Блядь_!"

Clawing fingers grabbed at his hair and yanked as Chekov bucked violently against Leonard, semen spurting hot and sticky onto his gloved hand. Expecting some measure of relief in the kid, Leonard was startled when Chekov started to sob in earnest, harsh ragged cries dragged up from true misery.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he wept, clutching at Leonard's hair and shirt, fingernails scraping raw lines on his neck as Chekov scrabbled for purchase. "пожа́луйста, бог, Блядь... I need... Блядь--" A long babble of Russian followed, cut off only as Chekov tried to smash their lips together, managing only to bang noses as Leonard jerked back.

"You don't want this, kid," he managed hoarsely. "You don't know what you're--"

"Am sixteen," Chekov cried in frustration, writhing desperately in his lap. "Am in Starfleet! Is not first time. I can say-- I can say yes-- Bones, I need-- need... cock in my ass, in my fucking ass, hard a-and-- hard and fast, fuck my ass... fuck..."

Surrendering to another rush of tears, Chekov only managed to choke out, "Please. Please god."

 _This ain't right. Not in the fucking_ least. _And hell if I ain't fuckin' gonna do it anyway._

"Dammit, Jim," Leonard snarled beneath his breath, and reached to yank Chekov's pants farther down.

Gasping and whimpering, Chekov shimmied his hips frantically, hindering as much as he helped to eel out of his pants. Leonard's gloves left streaks of drying come across his ass. Suddenly their teeth and lips were clashing in wet savagery, noses banging, smashing into the steering wheel and gearshift and door as they tore at clothing and hair indiscriminately. The constant needy piston of Chekov's hips didn't help anything at all but the erection growing in Leonard's pants.

With a sudden shove, Leonard pinned Chekov back against the steering wheel with the weight of his body and kissed him fiercely. It bought him a few seconds to strip off his dirty gloves and yank on new ones. Groping around the curve of the cadet's ass, he found Chekov's hole and fingered it briefly. Chekov approved loudly in Russian.

"Is no need, I do it already, in the room, I do it," he babbled against McCoy's lips, still smashing their mouths together every few seconds. "I get the-- the lube, I get it for Hikaru but he would not, would not fuck me, ewen though I use my own fingers for it."

Well no wonder Sulu had looked so freaked, if he'd turned around to find his friend bent over the nearest flat surface and lubing himself up, pants around his ankles. Must have used at least two, maybe three fingers, if the easy give of his slick channel was any indication.

"Jim made me put my pants back on," Chekov added absently, slurring slightly.

Now there was a sentence you didn't hear often.

"Good boy," Leonard mumbled, fumbling for his wallet. He wasn't the kind to go sleeping around campus, using and ditching girls like some kind of-- well, like Jim Kirk-- but he'd been dragged out to bars a hell of a lot more frequently than he would have liked, and ended up being Jim's wingman more often than not. God knew, if Leonard didn't have a condom to into Jim's hand as he wandered out with his next conquest, chances were one wouldn't get used.

In a frenzy of kissing and groping and pink-blushing teenage limbs, Leonard managed to turn Chekov around. Leaves showered down into the car as the kid's head brushed the low-hanging branches in his maneuver. Increasingly desperate as Chekov was, Leonard barely managed to hit the lever that tilted his seat back before the kid humped himself silly against Leonard's thigh.

"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck, like zat, fuck--"

"All right, already," growled Leonard. He had a moment to bemoan the utterly unsanitary conditions of his hovercar's upholstery, and then latex gloved fingers were easing his cock into Chekov's slippery passage, massaging the tight ring of muscle as it spasmed and fluttered around his length.

There was a long, silent moment. Then Chekov gasped, shuddered, threw back his head and howled something triumphant in Russian, and suddenly Leonard "Bones" McCoy was no longer in control of a damn fucking thing in the world.

He managed to start breathing again several eternities later, and found himself flat on his back against the reclined seat, staring blindly up at the canopy of leaves overhead as something like heaven happened for the first time in the four years since his divorce. Synth-leather upholstery squeaked under his clawing fingers as Chekov bounced deliriously in his lap, his jumbled monologue of Russian and Standard punctuated by each slap of his ass against Leonard's thighs. Leaves and green crab apples rained into the car each time Chekov rose up, his sweat-dark curls tangling in the low branches. When he craned his neck, Leonard could just see the head of Chekov's member slapping against the steering wheel with each eager jerk of his hips, strings of semen glistening on the wheel.

 _Sonuvabitch, Len, you musta did something right in your last life,_ he thought helplessly, grabbed Chekov's narrow hips, and began to thrust up as hard and fast as he could, because it just wasn't polite to be letting someone else do all the work.

Leonard didn't speak Russian, but he pretty much got the picture when Chekov began to yelp, "да, да, да, дa!" Sex sounded the same in any language, and everybody eventually broke it down to either, "Yes!" or "No!" The obscene scream of orgasm that had Chekov shooting into Leonard's gloved hand again? Big clue which one it was.

And so Leonard didn't have the refractory period of a teenager on sex pollen, but dammit, man, he was a doctor anyway, not a gigolo. Chekov didn't seem to mind when he replaced his cock with his fingers, thrusting three into the hot, slippery channel still dripping with his own semen and fucking the kid's prostate until he writhed like a wildcat and came again. Still no real progress on the Russian front, but Leonard was pretty certain that, just from context, _Бо́же мой_ was either praying like a priest or cussing like a sailor.

"I fucking love the Hippocratic oath," Leonard muttered, as he finally lay Chekov, fast asleep, down in the back seat, gym towels spread over the synth-leather. Soaked in sweat and missing half his clothes, the kid mumbled something in his sleep and curled up on his side. Gently, Leonard unlaced Chekov's shoes and set them in the foot well.

That was that, then. All finished.

For about a minute, Leonard stood and gazed at the sleeping cadet, trying to memorise his flushed face and the slackess of his utterly satiated muscles, the redness of his lush mouth and the nailmarks dug into his palms. He knew a goddamn gift when it fell into his lap and started humping him. Knew it was gonna have to last him a long time to come.

Then he grimly pulled on a fifth pair of latex gloves, unpacked the industrial-sized bottle of concentrated sanitizer from his medkit, and steeled himself to face the driver's seat once more.

*

  
Spotting his friend leaning against the trunk of a stunted apple tree with a bottle of whiskey in hand, Jim eased down on the throttle and pulled up beside the parked hovercar. Sulu was out of the car before Jim had shifted into park.

"How is he?" asked Jim, following Sulu out.

"Fine, like I told you when I called."

"How'd you manage that?" Jim asked in surprise. Indeed-- the top of Bones' car was down, and Jim could see Chekov laid out in the back seat, fast asleep and looking angelic, as only Pavel Chekov could.

Bones growled, bared his teeth and took another long swallow from the bottle he was nursing.

"My gearstick is never going to be the fucking same," he muttered darkly. Sulu made a funny noise and Jim covered a hysterical snort of laughter. "I let him work it out of himself and put him down to sleep. The end."

"Sounds good," Sulu said hoarsely. "Thanks, Doctor McCoy." Gently, he shook Chekov awake and helped him into his own car. Chekov turned a brilliant shade of pink and refused to meet anybody's eyes but Bones' as he climbed gingerly into Sulu's passenger seat, limping and wincing.

Jim watched them drive off, then looked back at Bones. "Want me to drive?"

Bones threw the starter chip at him with far more force than necessary and climbed into the passenger seat, muttering something that sounded like, "Never get me in that seat again."

Jim managed to keep a straight face and stay silent as he started the hovercar, put it into gear and pulled back onto the road. Then, meeting Bones' eyes when the doctor finally decided it was safe to do so, Jim cracked a shit-eating grin and drawled, "A condom on the gearshift I could understand, Bones, but what's your story for the five pairs of used gloves you chucked in the bushes?"


End file.
